


Lapidary

by Arc03verdigris, phaelsafe



Category: Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-08
Updated: 2012-12-11
Packaged: 2017-11-20 14:18:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/586293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arc03verdigris/pseuds/Arc03verdigris, https://archiveofourown.org/users/phaelsafe/pseuds/phaelsafe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sandy doesn't just disappear after Pitch shoots him, but he does wake up changed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

He comes to suddenly, too suddenly, and he inhales a mouthful of sand. Sandy rolls into a seated position as he hacks the grit from his throat and looks around. He's back at his island, and it's twilight as usual, but everything -- the sand and ocean, his castle -- are all washed out to a neutral grey, bereft of colour. 

Sandy is the same grey. And something is missing, something he's had for as long as he can remember, even before he woke up on this little blue-green planet. He feels hollow, empty of a dynamism he's never given any thought to before. 

The last thing he remembers is fighting back the nightmares, Jack whizzing around him, and then- 

He scrambles to his feet, reaching for where he knows Pitch's bolt had pierced him in the back, but he finds nothing. There is no wound or rip in his robe. 

Sandy frowns and glances up. Even his castle feels destitute. None of the usual sounds of the place are present, the lulling caress of waves lapping against the shore or gentle song of the soothing mermaids from the cove. 

He trudges closer, eyeing the looming shell-shaped towers warily as he approaches. Still there is no one, nothing else here other than him. Sandy hesitates before entering, his eyes darting around. The warm glow of his home is missing; the place is riddled with shadow. He takes a reluctant step over the threshold. 

An invisible force shoves him forward, or rather, jerks him further in, and he just catches himself before he trips to the the ground. He spins around, looking for the intruder, but a shrill shrieking fills the air. Cages upon cages filled with Tooth's little fairies surround him, and Sandy realizes he's somehow stumbled into Pitch's lair. 

The doorway leading back to his island remains open, and he makes a break for the exit. Just before he passes through though, he freezes in place, no longer able to push beyond the barrier as a glass manacle appears around first one wrist, then the other. The chains are thick but transparent delicate looking. He tries to shove his way past, shatter the glass, but they hold fast. When he tries to get a foot through the door, his ankle is cuffed. 

He's yanked to the floor, the chains tinkling daintily despite their strength. Sandy glances back to find they disappear off into the darkness. The restraints begin to fade away as he sits there. 

The fairies continue to chirp desperately at him. Sandy's eyes dart to them, and he shakes his head, shrugging helplessly. 

"Be _quiet_!" the Nightmare King roars. The fairies shrink away in terror, and Pitch steals into the open, flinging his hands out. The cages are swallowed up by the shadows and the place falls quiet. He sneers down at Sandy, folding his arms behind his back as he moves closer. "I should've known I couldn't take you out permanently. What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be off trying to save Easter?" 

Sandy stands, his frown deepening as his gaze flicks down to his hands then back up to Pitch. He tries to push his hands past the door and the glass bracelets reappear around his wrists. He raises an eyebrow and holds his hands out for Pitch to examine. 

Pitch's own brows fly up in surprise, but he reaches out and scratches a fingernail across the cuff, then his lips curl into an amused and sadistic smile. "And what do you want me to do about it?" 

Sandy drops his hands to his sides in a huff and glares at Pitch. 

"I have done nothing to bind you here," Pitch says. He ruffles the guardian's hair as he steps over the chain, chuckling darkly as Sandy jerks away. "So, then. Why _are_ you here?" 

Sandy's skeptical eyes widen, but then he presses his lips together angrily and jabs a finger toward the door. Pitch glances in the direction indicated and he stops, surprise etched across his face. He rounds on Sandy, his stare hardening as he growls, "What did you do? How are we on your island _and_ in my lair?" 

The guardian's mouth falls open and he gapes at Pitch in disbelief. Then he crosses his arms over his chest and plops glumly to the floor. 

That makes Pitch pause. "It isn't like you to just-" he waves his hand around "-give up. You've got the chains; where are your whips? And-" he stoops over and regards the guardian, "-why do you all of a sudden look so _dreary?_ " 

His eyes narrowing, Sandy looks Pitch over from head to toe then back; he snorts, but he pulls from the familiar well within him and conjures dreamsand into his hand, willing it to form into a puppy. The silvery grains cascade lifelessly to the ground. His brows draw together in annoyance as he tries once more, concentrating this time on a rocket ship. His frustration grows as he fails again. He tosses the sand to the ground and stomps on it. 

Pitch snickers, his hand coming up to cover his mouth when Sandy glares at him. Anger and determination settle across the guardian's features, and he bites at his lip as he endeavors to shape the sand. This time, he manages to create a little horse, and he beams proudly, displaying the figure to Pitch. 

The horse stands motionless upon his palm though, and Sandy's expression crumbles. 

But Pitch cocks his head to the side, studying the little half-formed dream with a detached look in his eyes. He pokes at it, and Sandy expects the sand to fall away; instead, the little horse rears up, tossing it's mane and whickering softly before prancing across the air into Pitch's hand. 

As Sandy watches, the little creature corrodes, the sand that forms it turning black. He glances back and forth between the Nightmare King and the tiny nightmare that dances across his pale knuckles, unable to comprehend what is happening. 

"Well, that is _most_ interesting," Pitch says, his smirk twisting with malice. His face lights up with something nearing triumph, and he drops to his knees beside Sandy. "I've managed to corrupt you after all!" 

Sandy shakes his head vehemently, then points at his heart. 

"What, you think I have no heart? No center? Really, then how else could I have remained here all these years, waiting for my chance?" Pitch throws his head back and cackles. He sobers quickly enough and fixes Sandy in place with an intimidating stare. "You can feel it though, can't you, like you're waiting to be filled?" 

The shadows flare around them, and startled, Sandy shuffles away. His chains flicker back into reality though, stopping him in his tracks. 

Pitch wraps his fingers around them, and the glass links jangle together as he hauls Sandy back to him. "Your center is there, but you're nothing more than an empty vessel-" 

Sandy stills as the words sink in, and he lays there on the stone floor, staring up at Pitch as realization dawns upon him. 

And Pitch continues to speak even though he's lost in his own thoughts now. "-without purpose. Hollow." 

Sorrow fills Sandy, but he feels oddly detached from it. Still, he pushes onto his hands and knees, lets the heartache move him to Pitch. The other spirit seems to be staring straight through Sandy, so he waves a hand in front of Pitch's face. Silvery-gold eyes come back into sharp focus, and Sandy presses his palm to Pitch's heart then lets it fall away before gesturing at the darkness around them. 

Pitch's eyes dart away, and he jeers, "It was hard enough trying to understand you before, but without your sand language, I don't-" 

Rolling his eyes, Sandy stands up. He grabs Pitch's face and makes the Nightmare King look at him. Then he lifts his eyebrows, no judgment upon his face, just curiosity. 

With a sigh, Pitch drops the chains and they fade back into obscurity. "Yes, this happened to me too. I'm talking about myself. Are you happy now?" 

Sandy puffs his cheeks out slightly, but he gives a short nod. He's unprepared for the way Pitch drops forward, deflating as though he's relieved. Arms wind around him, and when Sandy returns the embrace, Pitch rests his forehead against the guardian's chest, muttering almost too softly for Sandy to hear, "I'm sorry.". 

Sandy shakes his head, then realizes Pitch can't see him and give him an encouraging pat to the back. 

"Right then," Pitch says, his tone biting as he pushes away. He rocks back onto his heels, then sits on the floor, wrapping his arms around his knees. "Go on, oh beloved Guardian of Dreams, give it a try. Instead of painting pretty little fantasies, dig into that deep, forsaken void and build a real nightmare...."


	2. Chapter 2

The second the words leave his mouth, he senses it: a feeling of revulsion, a captive force fighting hard and furiously. He’d gone too far; just the suggestion, the very idea of sending a helpless sleeping child spiraling into a dark, bitter world that no light could touch had raised the ire in his tiny prisoner. Sandy is glaring at him from beneath his beetled brow, his chest heaving. His whole body seems to be clenched, a coiled muscle, ready to react. The disgust pierces Pitch, leaving him feeling alone, tired ...and hurt? 

Well, what could he have expected, after all? The sugary display of concern was second nature to the sandman. But that’s all it was: a display 

_No sympathy for the devil._ Pitch laughed grimly to himself. 

Pitch stands, his hands curled into fists at his sides. He is in his castle, his domain. He will not be made a fool in the house of shadows. “Pity. Well, it really doesn’t matter. My kingdom is dark and there are more rooms to hide in here than there are stars in the sky. I could wander my grounds for my entire life and never have to see you again, Sandman. Just remember that." 

With a devilish sense of triumph Pitch turns and strides into the darkness, adding, "And well, _you_ are the one who has to see the stars, so just make yourself _comfortable._ ” 

Sandy watches the bogeyman steal back into the recesses of the palace and pulls himself upright, bolting again for the exit. Mustering all his strength, he heaves himself towards the lapping shores beyond the door. Again, the shackles materialize and the chains go taut, causing him to tumble to the floor. 

This time something is different. 

The shackles do not disappear as he is pulled to the ground. Instead, they seem to darken, turn opaque; their texture becomes pitted and cold, like rusted iron. His hands fly to his neck as a thick manacle clamps down securely. No air. He can't breathe. Scrambling backwards, he claws at the metal, mouth opening in mute terror. Fine grey sand sifts to the floor beneath him, dusting his hands and knees as the shackles tighten. 

Pitch hears the sounds of the struggles and turns, puzzled by the peculiar image of the sandman straining and twisting like a hooked fish. He wrinkles his nose in derision. “You’re pathetic. No amount of struggling will break those bonds...” he trails off as he notices the heavy chain, knotted like entrails. 

Despite his earlier disinclination, he runs back, falling to his knees next to the guardian. The shackle is cutting into the soft flesh of the sandman’s neck, and Pitch's mind helpfully treats him to the image of it severing his head neatly from his shoulders, like garden shears on a rosebud. Pitch winces. Sandy’s face is dark, his eyes wide and darting, flecks of sand and saliva on his lips. 

Pitch’s hands tremble over him uselessly, unsure how or even what it is he wants to do. With photo clarity, he realizes what is happening. _My world is rejecting him._

“Stupid little man, listen to me. If you want to live you’re going to have to make that nightmare. _Think!_ ” he hisses, grabbing Sandy’s face and holding it close. 

Sandy is delirious. He hears Pitch’s voice, hears his words, but all he sees in his head are little dolls with eyes closed, falling slowly like feathers in a cascade of gold; little dolls whose waking lives are full of pain and neglect, sickness, sorrow, hunger, suffering. How can anyone know the hurt and pain of a mind so young and wish anything, _anything at all_ but the sweetest dreams? 

Pitch’s voice cuts through the haze of gold, soft and black and serene. 

“Send the ones who harm them to hell, Sandman.” 

Sandy’s eyes go wide, and suddenly, something inside bursts. 

He remembers nothing after that. 

Hours later, he comes to for the second time. He is lying in a pool of shadows. No, he is covered by a black silk coverlet. With a startled gasp, he grabs at his neck -- the iron bands are gone. A little spark of something lights up inside as he realizes he must have had a bad dream. That flicker extinguishes when he feels a deep angry welt, causing him to hiss and pull his fingers away. There is more pain than he’s felt in centuries, and he suddenly realizes how nauseated he is. Slowly, so as not to disturb his aching head and roiling stomach, he sits up. He shuts his eyes and shakes his head, resting it in his hands. He’s lying on a granite slab of some sort, a mausoleum that radiates cold up through his body. 

Shivering, he crosses his arms and scans the darkness. Alarmed, his eye come to rest on the dark form crumpled in a heap on the ground before him. Pitch’s eyes are open, and he’s looking up at the sandman with a peculiar smile. 

“You pack one hell of a punch, little man,” Pitch says, smiling. His teeth are dark, and Sandy realizes that he’s been bleeding from the mouth. Pitch lifts up onto his elbows, eyeing the sandman warily. Sandy returns the gaze fearlessly, but feeling spent, exhausted, confused and in too much pain to back up the stare with any threat. Pitch slowly unfolds himself and stands, dark bruises are blooming on his chest, face and arms. He looks like he’s been through hell. 

“So you've noticed,” Pitch muses, indicating at the ugly bruises. "Well, I suppose you are mute not blind. This was all you, by the way.” 

Sandy’s jaw goes slack. He’s well aware of his fighting prowess with his trusty dream whips... but bare-handed? A little bead of pride wells up, only to be promptly quashed by more questions... questions he can't even ask. 

Pitch keeps a wide berth of the sandman, but as he circles, he stares at him with keen eyes. 

“You did something quite strange. There you were on the verge of death, and then it happened: a jolt of electricity -- it practically tore my palace down. When I woke up, your shackles had disappeared, your island with it. And look.” Pitch holds up a cracked, dirty mirror. 

Sandy peers into the mirror intently, not understanding what he's seeing. No longer grey, his body has regained color, but not the warm melted gold of sand. Instead, he was a dark, reddish color, like old blood. As he turns his hands they catch the light, a hazy metallic sheen glinting with pinpoints of bright red. He glances up at Pitch, and for the first time since he has woken up in this awful shadowy realm, a little glimmer of sand gathers above his head. A wavering question mark flashes briefly before falling away in swirl of spirals and waves. 

"Tarnished," Pitch explains with a grim smile. "You're a tarnished star, little sandman."


End file.
